


Old Ghosts Die Hard.

by sagelabyrinth



Series: Bile and Panic, the Holden Ford experience. [3]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Bill adores him, But he don't know, Family, Holden's dad is..., Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, iffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagelabyrinth/pseuds/sagelabyrinth
Summary: An unplanned visit from Holden's father stirs up old emotions for the young man, leaving wreckage behind.





	Old Ghosts Die Hard.

**Author's Note:**

> This work isn't heavily connected to the previous works in my series, but there will be references.
> 
> I do welcome you to read "Bile and Panic, the Holden Ford experience.", and also "A Hot December's Morning." if you'd like to know more background.
> 
> So, that being said, I hope you enjoy. :))

Holden loved _routine_. Routine's kept his life in order. Ever since his visits with his psychiatrist, Holden found that having a certain rhythm to his days helped manage the stress of life a lot better.

But every so often, some force of the world compelled shit to go _very out of rhythm._

It was a cold day, something Holden thoroughly enjoyed about Virginia. The weather here was _normal._ It was cold when it was supposed to be, and hot when it was supposed to be. Unlike Georgia, where it seemed to just be hot forever, and unlike the northern states he frequented as an adolescent, where the temperature was colder than normal-- even in summer.

The heating system in the basement kept the BSU at a consistent seventy-three degrees. Sitting at his desk, Holden never found himself getting too warm, or too cold. He was always just _comfortable._

The workload for the day wasn't too bad, a few unfinished profiles, some subjects who needed to find a spot on their list of interviewees, things were going swimmingly.

"Excuse me," a familiar gruff sounding-- but softspoken-- man asked Gregg from the entrance, "do you know where I might find a man by the name of Holden Ford?"

Holden felt as if the room dropped ten degrees. The warmth of his blood ran cold, his heart ceased to pound and the little hairs on his arms stood pin-straight upward.

"He's right there, sir." Gregg replied cheerfully, even going as far as to point Holden out. 

_Thank you, Gregg._ Holden sarcastically thought.

"Ah, Holden!" the older gentleman gleamed with enthusiasm as he made his way over to Holden's desk.

"Father," Holden said less enthusiastically, "what are you doing here?" his nerves were high, Holden just hopes it wasn't evident in his voice.

"What, a father can't drop by his son's work to say hello?"

Bill stopped dead in his tracks after he emerged from his office, "Father?" he inquired.

Holden, almost on autopilot, quickly stepped up to introduce the two, "Bill Tench, my father, Lieutenant Thomas Ford, father, this is Bill Tench." the string of words flew effortlessly from his mouth.

On cue, Bill stood straight-backed and tall with his arms neatly placed at his sides, "Sir, I apologize."

Thomas let out a hearty laugh, "At ease, soldier. Those days are long behind me."

Bill relaxed, "Well, it's a pleasure anyway. Say, what brings you around here? Holden doesn't mention you much."

_Try: at all._

Feeling a pang of guilt-- and a bit of uneasiness-- Holden stared back to his father, expecting an answer as well.

"I've never seen where my boy works, is all. Haven't heard much," Thomas glared at his son, "about it either. So I figured a visit was overdue." his voice was so neat and poise, it made Holden feel sick.

"Well, hey. I'm about to take lunch, let's all go out together, hm? Been dying to hear 'The Origin of Holden Ford'. Could help me understand why he's... Like that." Bill joked.

Thomas let out another great chuckle, "Well, if only I knew." he and Bill shared a laugh at that.

The trio arrived at a small diner near Quantico, Rizzo's, it was called. Simple cuisine, perfect for a "Hey, dad, haven't spoken to you in two years, let's grab lunch with my co-worker." type of occasion.

A petite waitress came by to take their orders, Holden couldn't help but think back to the poor woman he'd scarred with his casefile photos weeks earlier.

"So, Mr. Ford," Bill began to speak, but his sentence was short-lived due to Thomas cutting in.

"Thomas, please. Mr. Ford was my father. And his father before him." followed by yet another chuckle. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to Holden's ears.

Bill gave a subtle nod and reiterated, "_Thomas, _Holden hasn't told me much about you, why might that be?"

If looks could kill, Holden would be sharing a jailcell with Kemper or Brudos right now...

Thomas shrugged, "Different lives, I guess. We race on two entirely different types of tracks. I never quite understood the whole 'serial killer fascination' thing."

"It's a profession, father. Hardly a 'fascination.'" Holden grimaced.

Thomas waved him off and turned his attention back to Bill, "Well, until about five minutes ago, I didn't know you existed, agent. So please, tell me about yourself."

_God, he's so god-dammed friendly..._

Bill cleared his throat, "Well, I've been in the FBI for about ten years now, and I do have my own 'fascination' with serial killers, might I add."

Holden smiled smally to himself.

"I've also got a little boy, Brian, he's seven. And a wife," he stopped himself, "_almost _ex-wife, Nancy."

Holden was taken aback, "You never told me you two split." how could Bill not mention that? They were supposedly "friends", but currently Holden was rethinking the title.

Bill shrugged, "Well, you had your own things going on..."

"'Own things'? What type of 'things'?" Thomas questioned.

Holden swallowed dryly, "It's nothing, father--"

"You haven't been having those 'tantrums' of yours, have you?" Suddenly Holden felt like he was six-years-old again, scared of his father's intense gaze looming over him.

"No, no! Nothing like that," Bill shot him a confused look, "I've just been having an Asthma flare-up."

"'Asthma'," Thomas scoffed, then turned to Bill, "he just didn't like it when I smoked in the house." and chuckled again.

Finally, by some grace of God, the waitress arrived with their meals. Bill had ordered a Salisbury steak, along with potatoes and mushrooms, Thomas had gotten a cheeseburger that was accompanied by hot, oily french fries, and Holden got a garden salad.

"Jesus, you eat like a woman, Hold."

Bill couldn't help but laugh at his father's remark. Holden just harshly gulped, his desert-like throat making the task difficult, and said nothing.

The rest of their meal consisted of "guy-talk" from Thomas and Bill, and a couple of snippets from Holden's childhood. All of which garnered difficult memories for Holden.

"Ah," Bill spoke through a mouth full of potatoes, "it's time to head back to work."

"Very well, then. It was nice to meet you, Bill." Thomas stood to shake Bill's hand goodbye.

"I'll see you in a few." Holden called as Bill rounded the corner and left the restaurant.

Just before Thomas settled back in his seat, Holden let loose, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Don't take that tone with me, boy." Thomas warned.

"Oh, sorry, _father_," he said in a mixture of sarcasm and bitterness, "excuse me for wanting an explanation as to why you just _show up_ after, say, I don't know... five years after cutting me out of your life?"

"Cut you out of _my_ life? That's a laugh. You cut me out of yours, kiddo." Thomas' voice grew angrier with each sentence Holden threw at him, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Well, maybe if you had _tried harder-"_

"I tried my _dammed best_ after your mother died, you ungrateful shit!"

"Your 'best' was a fucking disgrace-"

Holden was silenced by a swift backhand to the mouth uttered by Thomas. A few patrons of the establishment looked over at the commotion, but Holden didn't stick around long enough to care.

He quickly gathered his things and ran out the door.

Everything was in slow motion. His face stung with pain and embarrassment. After a short walk he doesn't remember taking, Holden found his way back to the BSU.

He sat at his desk, numb to any and all interactions around him. His eyes were guarded by tears that threatened to escape at any second.

"Hey, Holden, where's your dad?" Bill innocently asked.

"I-" Holden tried his best to speak, but only a pathetic sob came out.

"Shit." Bill whispered as he swiftly guided Holden to his office and closed the door. Luckily the BSU was scarce of people, or the situation might've been worse.

"Kid, you gotta talk to me, what's wrong?"

Holden tried to catch his breath. He swears he could smell his father's cigarette smoke wafting into his nose, the smell of bourbon and Pinaud Clubman accompanying it.

"My... Father." he choked out.

"What?" Bill's voice was growing more and more concerned.

"I... Should've just... Kept my mouth shut..." he hiccuped. The ragged breathing almost made the sentence inaudible.

"Holden, please calm down. Do you have any Valium on you?" Holden had completely forgotten about his Valium. It had been long since he needed it.

"Front... Pocket." he held his hands firmly onto the arms of Bill's desk chair. It helped keep him leveled, remind him that there was something _real._

Bill got the bottle and popped the cap off. Holden took the pill dry, he couldn't spare to be picky.

After a few minutes, Holden's breathing evened out, and his emotions finally stopped going haywire long enough to stop crying.

"Okay, deep breath, tell me what happened."

Holden did as instructed, taking a big gasp of air and slowly starting, "I was in the diner with father, I asked why he was here, the _real _reason why he showed up completely unannounced. He told me not to take that tone with him, but of course I had to press on," he bitterly scoffed, rubbing his damp eyes.

"Hey, kid, whatever happened wasn't your fault." Bill rested a gentle hand on Holden's left shoulder.

He shrugged, "Yeah, well, father wasn't too happy when I said he did a shit job at raising me--"  
  


"Well, that's a bit harsh." Bill remarked.

"Bill."

"Sorry, go on."

"He popped me in the mouth. And that brought back... Everything."

Bill's expression grew soft, "Listen to me, Holden. No father should _ever_ hurt their child. No matter how old they are, or how much lip they give 'em."

Holden gave a soft smile in response.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a while. Holden reflected on far he'd gotten, and how one instance mucked it all up. Going _weeks_ without a panic attack, and having one day ruin it.

But he couldn't look at it like that. He _wouldn't _look at it like that.

_The only way to move on, is to keep going._

**Author's Note:**

> my baby,,, sweet boy,, baby


End file.
